


Can't Stop On Cloud 20

by EllesAlwaysWriting



Series: OT12 Archives [6]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Hand Jobs, Homesickness, Intoxication, M/M, just bros being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 16:24:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllesAlwaysWriting/pseuds/EllesAlwaysWriting
Summary: Luhan is too homesick to party and Yixing is too sympathetic to let him stay that way.





	Can't Stop On Cloud 20

**Author's Note:**

> 6/??? of a miscellaneous collection of oneshots and drabbles I found in the nostalgic depths of my EXO folder. All works were written between July 2013 - August 2015 and featuring all twelve original EXO members in one way or another.
> 
> Originally written as a Valentine's gift for a friend in 2014, this oneshot was inspired by the boys giving Luhan a hard time about his homesickness on Showtime, and Lay just being the natural healer he is. Title taken from "Bed Peace" by Jhene Aiko & Childish Gambino.

There’s a chorus of loud, childish laughter outside his dorm room that he tries hard to ignore, folding a pillow over his head an attempt to drown out the noise. He pops open one eye, praying he’ll be able to see the alarm clock on his bedside table without moving. 3:48 AM. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. His jeans scratch harshly against the comforter as he stretches out of the fetal position he had curled into, still dressed in the clothes he’d worn out earlier that night. He knows there’s already makeup smeared on his sleeves but he rubs his eyes again anyway, smudging his eyeliner further down his face. He turns away from the door because he knows whoever’s outside is about to come barging in any second. Light pours into the room just as he squeezing his eyes shut and someone stumbles in while simultaneously stomping out a guitar’s note prematurely.

“Shhhh, shut up, shut up!” someone whispers. The command only gets another hysterical laugh in return. “Chanyeol-ahh~, shhh! Shut up,” the person offers again and the group’s laughter is muffled by the door slamming shut. Their voices drift down the hallway along with more botched guitar chords.

His roommate smells of cheap beer and the fresh-cut grass, the combination strong and obnoxious as the boy miraculously strides across the room without tripping over anything. He hears the clunk of shoes being kicked into the corner, hears the desk lamp click on. When he sits up in his bed, curious as to why the room had suddenly gone quiet, there’s a body casting a shadow over his legs.

“Luhan-gē,” the stalky shadow whines, shoulders deflating, “why’d you leave so early? You missed all the fun.”

Luhan shrugs, tugging at the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Just didn’t feel like having fun tonight, I guess.” He jerks when Yixing’s body crashes face-first beside him on the bed. His nostrils are immediately assaulted by a mist of marijuana & five different colognes, and he pretends to gag.

“Party pooper.”

“You fuckin’ stink, oh my God, man. Who’d you even get weed from?”

Yixing rolls onto his side and props his chin on his upturned palm, back against the wall. “A good journalist never reveals his sources, gē-gē.”

The slur of his wispy voice is soothing, calming in its familiarity, but Luhan still frowns down at him. “Yixing…”

“Okay, okay…Yifan’s cousin.”

“Gahhh,” he cringes, “the one with the spikes lodged in his earlobes that’s always flirting with Jongin?”

“That’s the one!” Yixing shrieks, waving his arm above his head. His sleeve brushes over Luhan’s mouth softly and he coughs dramatically.

“Stop! Jesus Christ,” he sighs, covering his nose and shifting closer to the edge of the bed. “I don’t want another contact high.”

Yixing giggles, doing his best to kneel on the bed and pull off his hoodie without tumbling over. He fails, of course, and gets it stuck around his armpits, t-shirt riding up with it.

“Dumbass,” Luhan teases, grabbing the edge of his hoodie and trying to pull it over his head. He pulls a bit harder than he means to and ends up with both pieces of clothing slung over his lampshade and a chuckling, shirtless Yixing splayed over his lap. “Dì-dì…get off.”

Yixing doesn’t budge, just keeps his face pressed below Luhan’s belly button, still laughing.

Luhan tries to shift away, almost scooting off the bed completely, but freezes when he hears something fall to the floor below him.

Yixing stops laughing immediately, dragging himself across Luhan’s legs and peering down curiously at the carpet.

Now scattered on top of a mess of dirty clothes and junk food wrappers were dozens of photographs, mostly of Luhan’s mother. He reddens instantly, bending down over Yixing’s head to try & gather them, but Yixing stops him.

He’s seen this play out at least a dozen times, this is how Luhan copes when he’s homesick. He hides it well most of the time, but it gets bad around certain holidays, times when he can only offer his blessings over the phone or Facebook. Yixing remembers hearing him talking to his mother before they went out; this would be the third year he’s been away at school on her birthday. Yixing didn’t really expect him to come to the party with him after that, and he’s still surprised he stayed as long as he did before slipping out and walking back across campus to their dorm.

He’s seen him look over photos, some as old as when he was a baby and some as recent as last Christmas, and he looks over them for at least ten minutes each. He likes to relish in the memories, remember as much as he can about each day the photo was taken. No matter how happy the moment is, in the end, he always cries himself to sleep. Yixing pretends to be asleep through most of it, knowing how petrified Luhan is of others’ judgments. He hates seeming weak. So Yixing waits, lies awake until Luhan pushes the box back under his bed and shuts off the light.

Tonight he had fallen asleep with the box still on the edge of his bed. He had completely forgotten he had even pulled it out in his drunken somberness.

It takes a minute for Yixing to register that Luhan’s stammering, voice shaky with nervousness as he tries to pull away, but he holds his wrists firmly. “It’s okay, gē-gē, it’s okay,” he says.

Luhan feels tears welling up at his bottom lashes, scared to death of the thought of Yixing doing exactly what all his other friends do when he’s like this. Scared that Yixing’s going to coddle him like the big fat baby he is and try to calm him down. He found that kind of support comforting in a way, but mostly just found it emasculating. He wasn’t a child, he didn’t need to be sung a lullaby and rocked to sleep. He’s pulled himself together on his own countless times; he didn’t need anyone’s shoulder to cry on.

When he feels Yixing’s head on his shoulder, his breath on the nape of his neck, he realizes this is different. Yixing has always done everything so differently from everyone they know. It’s like living with an alien. Instead of hugging Luhan and drying his tears like any other human being would, Yixing’s now completely straddling his waist, tucked under his chin and rubbing little circles into his lower back. “It’s okay, Luhan…I miss them, too,” he says quietly.

Luhan’s not sure if he’s talking about his own family, or Luhan’s, but either would make sense considering their families have been friends since their parents were young. Either/or, he can feel himself getting dizzy with Yixing’s close proximity, but not so dizzy that he doesn’t feel the lips lining the bottom of his jaw. His mouth opens and he tries to form the question, ask just what the hell was going on, but Yixing takes it as an invitation instead, and slots his top lip between Luhan’s. His mouth puckers out of habit before he can stop it, and Yixing’s pulling away before he can really register the contact.

“I miss them, too,” Yixing repeats, hands creeping up Luhan’s spine and bunching his shirt around his waist. “But at least you still have me, right?”

Luhan sighs, suppressing a laugh because Yixing’s eyes are still closed and he’s swaying – actually fucking swaying – like the only thing keeping him upright is Luhan’s grip on the top of his thighs. He’s so beyond out of it, and Luhan can’t even remember the last time he’s seen him this drunk. His brain is too occupied decoding why he was so oddly comfortable with the fact that _Yixing just fucking kissed him._

“You have me…that’s enough…” When his eyes do crack open, they’re not focused on the boy he’s sitting on, but on the door. “You think I’m enough, right?”

“Of course,” Luhan says, unsure of what he’s really asking. Yixing always gets unnecessarily philosophical when he’s intoxicated, so Luhan doesn’t really expect to understand him at all right now. “Why would you think you’re not?”

He shrugs, still baring low eyelids towards the door. “Because _certain people_ think I’m not enough,” he mumbles. “_Certain people_ need two or three or a hundred guys because they’re stupid, selfish assholes who never know when enough is enough.”

The last sentence is mushed together and slurred horribly but Luhan knows by the expression exactly what stupid, selfish asshole he’s referring to. And he knows there’s really nothing he can say to keep Yixing from thinking about him completely because he’s tried before. Luhan’s not very good with words, but he tries anyway. He always does.

“Hey, who cares about Oh Se-dumb? You still have me.”

Yixing’s eyes flutter back to him. “Really?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Luhan pats Yixing’s shoulder, trying his best to be comforting, “I have you, and you have me…that’s enough, right?”

A smile tugs at the corners of Yixing’s mouth. “I have you?” he asks, poking childishly at Luhan’s nose.

Luhan nods. “Uh-huh.”

“And you have me,” he flicks his wrist and pokes himself in the chest. He’s silent for a few seconds, letting the words hang innocently in the air while Luhan waits for him to come back down to Earth.

He shifts awkwardly. “Alright, now that we’ve got that all worked out…mind getting off me?”

Yixing offers a slow blink and nothing else.

“Yixing-dì…helloooo? Get up.” Luhan pushes his hands under his thighs and tries to shove him off, but Yixing’s knees tighten at his sides.

His eyes narrow mischievously and the left corner of his mouth drops, leaving him wearing a slanted smirk. “Why? You just said ‘I have you and you have me’…”

Luhan waits. “…Yeah, so?” Luhan tries to ignore the way Yixing slides closer, but it's impossible when he brings them chest-to-chest very quickly and very deliberately. Plus there’s way too much pressure on a certain area now for him to dismiss the action.

“So _have me,_ gē-gē.”

Luhan is actually kind of glad Yixing kisses him this time, because he has absolutely no idea how to respond to that. The hands on his back creep up higher, press into his shoulder blades, and Luhan actually leans in, turning his head and allowing Yixing to suck his bottom lip into his mouth. He realizes that there’s a stark contrast between tasting the remains of alcohol and marijuana on the inside of Yixing’s mouth and likes it a lot better than just smelling it. His hands float up to grip Yixing’s hips, massage over his lower back, and he’s expecting some kind of awkwardness when they finally separate.

There’s none. Just Yixing’s forehead pressed against his and a sudden burning need to get closer, fit his mouth over those lips again, slide his tongue into the dip of his collarbone, watch his eyelids flutter as he touched him –

_Where the hell is all this even coming from?_ Luhan can’t remember ever having such intense feelings for Yixing. If he had, he’s certain he would have acted on it by now, especially when it would have been such a convenient arrangement.

Yixing has always been an affectionate person. He’s always been Luhan’s shadow, finding shelter in his presence, ever since they were children. It didn’t bother Luhan then and doesn’t now. He doesn’t mind when Yixing crawls into his bed at night or coils himself around him on the couch. Yixing doesn’t talk much, so he makes up for it in subtle touches and physical queues Luhan has picked up on over the years. It’s always been genuine, loving, unabashed affection. It’s nothing new. Luhan thought he was immune to how uncomfortable that contact is supposed to feel between friends.

But this…this was different. This was a form of tenderness Luhan wasn’t very familiar with. It’s not exactly sexual, which is why it feels so odd. It doesn’t feel sexual. This felt delicate and comforting and…hot. Really, really hot. The heat manifesting in Luhan’s chest feels like it’s spreading too quickly to the rest of his body, and he finds his palms pressed against Yixing’s chest, breaking the kiss.

“Stop,” he says with a distinct aftertaste of dishonesty. He doesn’t want anything to stop at all, especially when his eyes finally adjust to the limited light and he can see Yixing clearly. The lamp on the desk behind him is casting an odd kind of glow around his skin, bright gold contrasting with the darkness in his eyes. He’s all soft lines and pliable parts Luhan suddenly has in his hands, in his lap, against his chest. He knows his mouth is open but he can’t seem to force any words out or close it.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Yixing pants, tugging at the hem of Luhan’s sweater.

Luhan tries to ignore the downward swivel of hips on his crotch, he really does, but his train of thought had already run off the tracks. “I…we can’t…we shouldn’t –” He gives up, annoyed with the bucket of mush formally known as his brain.

Yixing’s staring down at the palms pressing firm on his pectorals and, much to Luhan’s dismay, bites his lip. “Why not?” he asks innocently. He drops his head into the crook of Luhan’s neck, rolling his hips experimentally and Luhan inhales sharply. “It sure _feels_ like we should, gē-gē…”

He can feel Yixing smiling against his skin and he didn’t think it was possible for his face to burn any hotter. He wishes he knew what he was more embarrassed about; the fact that he’s been rendered to a pile of blabbing, overactive nerves or the fact that the person that caused it was Yixing. Sweet, naïve, supposedly intoxicated Yixing. Yixing can barely walk when he’s drunk. Somewhere between the first kiss and the first rock of his hips, Yixing must have sobered up, appearing more alert and calculating as Luhan’s slowly losing control over his own body.

Plus, he’s sure they’ve only been making out for, what? Five minutes? He shouldn’t be this fucking hard already. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to figure out why the way Yixing maneuvers above him is so familiar. He can’t even remember the last time Yixing wasn’t casually touching him, applying pressure to certain spots and apologizing quickly when Luhan yelped and slapped his hand away. Yixing already knows what makes him tick.

A tongue swipes against his Adam’s apple and he shudders, clawing at Yixing’s ribs. His hips jerk up, gripping Yixing’s waist to keep him from being bucked off, and Yixing’s teeth scrape against this clavicle.

“Lu-gē,” Yixing sighs, pressing his forehead back to Luhan’s, “do you really want to stop?”

Luhan honestly can’t stop himself from shaking his head, even though he knows they shouldn’t do…whatever they’re doing. Before he can rethink the impulse, Yixing’s connecting their lips again, rolling his hips forward at just the right angle and Luhan moans shamelessly into his mouth.

The thought crosses his mind briefly as Yixing pulling his sweater over his head, that Yixing could easily just be using him to get back at his shitty boyfriend. However, he’s more flattered than offended, because Yixing definitely has more guys than just Sehun chasing after him, and he could have easily gotten himself ‘taken care of’ at the party, but he didn’t. He came back to their room, having already diluted more than ¾ of the narcotics in his system, with the intent of sleeping next to Luhan. And more, considering their current positioning. Maybe he wasn’t intending on things going this far, but Luhan doesn’t really care about that either way.

Somehow the lines between comfort and intimacy often get crossed in Yixing’s mind, so here he is: naked in his best friend’s lap, humping him like a dog in heat. The suffocating confinement of tight jeans and even tighter underwear has Luhan grunting with every pivot of his hips, but the friction it’s creating is too good and Yixing really can’t help himself. He keeps Luhan’s wrists pinned beside his head and decides to make it up to him later, lazily kissing his neck in atonement.

Luhan gives up on having any say in how this is going to happen and chooses to stay trapped under Yixing, though he could easily throw him off and demand things his way. He feels sweat beading on his face as his breathing drags, writhing at the friction against his groin more than anything else. It only takes Yixing biting down on his shoulder and a few more erratic snaps of his hips for his vision to go white. He cries out, clenching his fists as he waves through his orgasm against the naked form on top of him.

When Luhan opens his eyes, Yixing is staring down at him again, damp locks of hair sticking to his forehead. His bottom lip quivers, as he’s about to say something, but Luhan cuts him off by tilting his head up.

He eases Yixing onto his back as they kiss, smoothing his hands down his chest, but stops below his ribs. “Can I…?” he starts to ask, and Yixing nods his head vigorously.

“Yeah, yeah…please,” he whines desperately.

Desperate for Luhan to touch him, eyes closed and chest heaving and legs trembling and how the hell did Luhan find this awkward ten minutes ago? Why was he even thinking of trying to stop this from happening? Sure, it’s rushed and impulsive and probably not the best idea but honestly…who cares?

“Luhan,” Yixing whines again, nails scraping down his arm because he’s close but not close enough. Too far even though his hand is mere centimeters away from where he wants it and he wants it too bad not to beg.

_Yup, definitely don’t care, at all,_ Luhan thinks. _Fuck it._ He’s watching Yixing’s face as he traces a finger up and down the length of his dick, watches his throat move as he swallows. He grips him softly at the base, resisting the urge to groan as it bounces up from Yixing’s belly. He doesn’t resist the urge to move down and press his tongue into the slit, lapping at the tiny pool of precum and sheen of sweat as he fits his lips over the engorged head.

Yixing curses, hands moving to thread into Luhan’s hair and push down because he really, really needs this and doesn’t have the energy to be coy anymore.

Luhan apparently gets the picture, knowing Yixing probably won’t come out and say it, and sinks down further, coating him with just enough saliva to make the pumping of his fist a little less harsh. He retracts on a little, keeping the head in his mouth and sucking as he strokes Yixing quickly.

Yixing doesn’t moan very loudly, just whimpers and gasps for air, tugs at the hair on top of Luhan’s head, but he shouts when he comes unexpectedly fast into Luhan’s mouth. In the haze of his high, the thought of his kinda-sorta-maybe-boyfriend Sehun still waiting on the cold, wet lawn in front of their dorm makes him giggle. Yixing thinks of texting him to say he changed his mind about meeting him there. He decides not to. Maybe a little taste of his own medicine will do the guy some good. Yixing was tired of doing all the worrying and waiting in their situation-ship.

“What’s so funny?” Luhan asks, looking over his shoulder at Yixing as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Nothing,” he says smiling, sticking his legs under the warmth of Luhan’s blanket. “Just happy.”

“You’re always happy,” Luhan says, peeling off his soiled underwear and pants. He looks over to his dresser, quickly shrugging off the idea of working his tired limbs to go get his pajamas.

“When I’m with you, yeah,” he whispers against Luhan’s back, snaking an arm around his waist and encouraging him to lie back down.

Luhan allows Yixing to meld himself into his side the way he normally does, and even though they’re both naked and the room reeks of sex, it doesn’t feel any different than usual. He nestles his chin into Yixing’s hair and closes his eyes, sighing contently when Yixing mumbles goodnight into his chest.

He probably would have drifted right to sleep if his asshole friends weren’t still walking up & down the hall singing Oasis. The gross drama-like cliché of watching Yixing sleep in the fluorescent glow of the desk lamp while Chanyeol and Baekhyun sing fucking “Wonderwall” for the twelfth time tonight finally wills him off to sleep…after about twenty minutes of totally not being strangely comforted by watching Yixing sleep.


End file.
